


25 Days of Fluff

by pastelwitchling



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Kylex, M/M, Malex, max x alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 21,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: A collection of 25 Christmas fluff pieces I had done every day for the month of December.
Relationships: Alex Manes & Kyle Valenti, Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti, Max Evans & Alex Manes, Max Evans/Alex Manes, Michael Guerin & Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 40
Kudos: 38





	1. Max x Alex

“Max,” Alex blinked. “Well, this is a surprise. “

“Sorry to bother you, Alex,” Max tilted his hat to the airman, his other hand on his belt as Alex gestured him inside. “We’ve been hearing about a lot of disturbances around this area, and I thought I’d check on you.”

“Disturbances on Christmas Eve?” Alex mused. “Maybe it’s Santa.”

Max huffed a chuckle. “Yeah. Maybe.” He looked around. He had not expected Alex Manes to be the holly jolly type, but there was a tree in the corner, decorated with bright red and green lights, candy canes, gingerbread men, and little ceramic doves. The walls glistened with mistletoe, lights, and wreaths, there were two stockings hanging over the fireplace, and as Alex’s beagle stared up at Max from her master’s side, Max saw that she was wearing a Christmas sweater with the words _‘Happy Howlidays’_ stitched across in cursive lettering. The sight warmed his heart, and made him want to laugh. He refrained.

“Have you heard anything? Seen anybody around here?”

“No one ever comes around here,” Alex said, and Max watched as he leaned against his couch’s armrest. Alex’s condition, what he’d _lost_ during the war, it was no secret.

“What about you?” he asked. “You okay?”

Alex scoffed. He seemed to realize Max was watching his leg, and he stood. Max tried to tell him he didn’t need to put any weight on it, but held back. He didn’t think Alex Manes was the kind of man that appreciated being told he could rest. Not by a stranger, at least, and Max reminded himself that was what he and Alex were; strangers.

“You sound like Guerin.”

_Of course._ Even if Max and Michael didn’t have the same last name and weren’t raised by the same family, they were still brothers. Of course Alex would see Michael when looking at Max. It left a sort of sting in Max’s chest that he didn’t know what to do with. Did he just feel bad for Michael, unable to be here because Alex couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore? Or did he feel bad for Alex, left here in this hunting cabin, no one but the Sheriff to ask him how he was.

“You know, Michael doesn’t know I’m here,” he said, not knowing why he felt the need to say it. Maybe he just needed to prove to Alex that he had people who cared about him. _Maybe_ , a small part of him wondered, _it’d be kind of nice to be Alex Manes’ friend._

Alex raised a brow. “Would it have made a difference if he did?” Max didn’t say anything, and Alex nodded, understanding. Max felt bad. He wished he had some better news.

“Alex, I…” he trailed off, and sniffed the air once, twice before he asked, “What is that?”

“Hot chocolate, I’m making a batch,” Alex said, the hint of a smile at his lips. “Why? You want some?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, then looked in the direction of where he assumed the kitchen was, then back at Alex. The airman laughed. “Don’t you have rounds to make or something?”

Max waved him off, looking back over his shoulder, and thoughtlessly said, “Eh, I only really cared about checking in on you.” As soon as the words left his lips, Max blinked, and looked to find Alex staring at him with furrowed brows, his smile dimming.

“You know,” he said with a casual tone that did not match the strange jump in his chest. “Michael would kill me if anything happened to you.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered, as if the mere mention of Michael’s name was enough to jostle him out of his thoughts. “Right. Yeah, uh, let me – let me go get you a mug.”

He pressed his lips together in an attempted smile, but Max could feel the tension. His brother was there, at Alex’s side, even when he wasn’t. The fact that his presence seemed to dim Alex’s spirits though – well, Max didn’t know what to make of that.

Alex’s beagle suddenly started barking at the window. “Hey,” he frowned. “Girl, what’s wrong?” he checked the dog’s collar – _Buffy_ , it read – and scratched her ears. “Buffy, what is it?”

Buffy kept barking, her eyes seemingly focused on something outside. Max followed her gaze and saw a figure among the forest trees, and his hand went to his gun. Max’s frown deepened as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

“Oh my God,” he breathed.

“What’s wrong?” Alex appeared, and squinted at the scene outside. He blinked. “I-is that a –”

“Reindeer,” Max said.

“I’d say you just found your disturbance.”

Max agreed. “What the hell’s it doing here?”

“Well,” Alex said, “it _is_ Christmas.”

Max snorted. “Ha ha.”

Neither of them said anything else, and Buffy calmed as Alex scratched her back, his eyes still on the animal outside. After a moment of staring, the two burst into laughter. The reindeer seemed to be minding its own business, unaware of the trouble it caused, and for some reason, Max found that even funnier.

“Shouldn’t we,” Alex shrugged, “do something?”

Max’s laugh died to an amused chuckle as he pulled out his phone. “On it.”

They straightened and Alex held out a mug of steaming hot chocolate for Max to take. He closed his eyes as he took a sip, the warm liquid warming his entire body. He found himself wishing he could stay here a little longer to enjoy the Christmas lights and the warmth of the fireplace, which was weird because he was Max Evans, and this was Alex Manes, and he didn’t usually like being around strangers longer than he had to. Especially not strangers his brother was in love with.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, thanks.” He used his mug to gesture at the door. “I better go – uh – wait outside for animal control.”

Alex’s smile faltered, and Max saw the instant in which the airman’s defenses came up, his smile as polite as always. _But it was too late_ , he thought. He’d seen Alex’s genuine laugh, seen Alex smile, seen the way his eyes light up in the firelight to gold, and even if it was brief, he didn’t think it was right that the airman would have to hide that joy away so quickly. Maybe it was knowing that that made Max say his next words.

“U-unless you wouldn’t mind if I just waited in here? It’s kind of freezing outside, and I might need another cup of this.”

Alex raised a brow, his smile turning kinder, more amused, more _real_. “Sure, Evans. You’re the Sheriff.”

Max smiled to himself as he took another sip. He was just glad to be heading somewhere with Alex for _Michael’s_ sake. That was all. He was doing his brother a favor, and nothing could be more gratifying than that.

“Uh… Sherriff?”

“Hm?”

“The reindeer’s gone.”

Max nearly choked on his chocolate. “What?” he squinted at the outside, and found nothing. He and Alex hurried out into the snow. Alex had nearly stumbled on his prosthetic, and Max caught him. “Be careful,” he’d told him as his hand lingered on the airman’s waist. He hastily pulled away.

They looked around, but even Buffy couldn’t seem to find the missing animal. Then Max’s eyes caught hoofprints on the ground, and he pointed. “Look. A trail.”

They surveyed the prints, and frowned. “This can’t be right,” Max said. “They just stop here, in the middle of nowhere. How did he just disappear?”

Max offered Alex his arm as he leaned down to check the trail himself. “I’m no reindeer expert, but you see these hoofmarks here? They’re messier than the ones behind them.” He stood, dusting the snow off his pants. “The reindeer had to have dug its hooves into the snow pretty hard before it vanished.”

“Which means,” Max’s brows furrowed. “It either jumped and disappeared, or…”

Alex swallowed. “It flew.”

After a moment of silence, Max inhaled deeply. He saw no sign of any reindeer anywhere, the trail had completely vanished, and through the window, he could see his and Alex’s steaming mugs just sitting on the windowsill, waiting for them in the warmth.

He exhaled on a laugh. When Alex turned to him, he shrugged. “Maybe it was Santa.”

Alex scoffed, surprised. “Yeah,” he said slowly, shaking his head at Max’s silliness. Max found that being thought of as silly wasn’t too bad if he could make Alex laugh like that. “Maybe it was.”


	2. Max x Alex

Christmas at the Crashdown Café really was a wonder to behold. Max was not surprised. Once Isobel had taken over the party planning, he knew there would be a transformation. And there was. The tables and seats were all draped with red velvet and gold engravings drawing out patterns of Christmas trees and reindeer, there were wreaths hanging on every door and the back of every chair, there was mistletoe hung on every doorframe, so anytime anyone had to come in and out of the kitchen, which was often to check on the food, Isobel yelled out, “Kiss, you’re under the mistletoe!” (“I’m not kissing anybody, Is!” Michael snapped at some point), the walls were adorned with gold glitter, fairy lights, and red bows, and there was a ceiling-high, beautifully-decorated tree in the corner.

Max patted his jacket pocket, relieved when he felt the small package inside. This was a dumb idea, wasn’t it? A _dumb_ idea.

Max’s eyes scanned the crowd as he repeatedly muttered, “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” to himself. _He’s not here yet._

Then it occurred to him. What if Alex never showed up? What if he was sitting this celebration out? What if he so badly wanted to avoid seeing Michael that he would skip out on a fun night with his friends? But then again, Max realized grimly, Alex only really talked to Kyle nowadays.

Max reached into his pocket, making sure – for what felt like the hundredth time that night – his package was still there. He was going to drive himself crazy.

“Hey,” he nudged Michael who was seated in the booth, chugging a bottle of beer, his arm around a girl Max had never seen before. “Is Alex coming tonight?”

Michael swallowed, and plastered on a humorless smirk. “Hell would I know? I’m not his babysitter.”

Max glanced at the girl. “You think maybe you should call it a night already? If Alex gets here and sees you with –”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that?” Michael said, his voice tight. “Since when do you care about my relationship with Alex anyway?”

He looked away. “He’s a good guy, Michael. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Noted,” Michael said, and returned to his flirting, though Max had stopped listening because the bell above the door jingled and despite the music and crowd, Max’s attention narrowed to the man who had just walked in.

“Heads up,” he said, but he’d felt Michael tense up beside him already.

Max watched as Alex Manes walked in and set his plate of chestnuts on the counter among the others before Liz suddenly jumped into his arms. Max felt something swell in his chest. He was glad to see Liz so happy. That was why. It certainly had nothing to do with the way the airman laughed so genuinely, the way his arms lifted Liz and spun her around despite it adding extra weight to his leg.

Max glanced at Michael and saw him watching just as intently, his jaw clenched, the girl beside him forgotten. Max hesitated. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the small wrapped gift he had saved.

“Here,” he handed it to Michael.

Michael’s eyes flickered to the gift. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Go give it to him,” he said, and he knew Michael didn’t need an explanation as to who ‘him’ was.

“You want me to give him a present?” Michael said, his eyes going back to Alex, who, on account of the dancing crowd between them, had not spotted them yet. “What for?”

Max’s eyes snapped to him. “Michael, it’s Christmas.”

Michael’s jaw tightened, and he settled back in his seat, taking another swig of his drink. “He doesn’t want anything from me.”

“He just wants you to _try_ , so take the damn gift, and get up.” Michael would not. “Come on, brother, think of how happy it’ll make him if _you_ –”

“Give it to him yourself, Max,” he snapped, and looked away. “I’m busy.”

Max stared. He scoffed, and straightened. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.” He turned away from his brother, his heart aching. Michael was so miserable being so far apart from Alex, he _knew_ that, and yet his brother continued to torture himself. With a last glance at him, Max made his way through the crowds, said his hellos and politely received the cheek kisses from elderly women as Winter Wonderland by Michael Bublé started playing.

“Hey, Manes, you made it,” he said as he reached them, instantly cursing himself. That was a _dumb_ thing to say.

Alex scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, well, your sister’s a hard woman to say no to.”

Right away, Max realized Alex was subtly scanning the diner, making it seem as if he didn’t care whether or not he found who he was looking for. But Max knew he did. He had seen the light shine in Alex’s eyes before it was hit with harsh reality and dimmed again. He didn’t want to see it now.

“Uh – A-Alex, I’m glad you’re here,” he moved to block Alex’s view of Michael, holding out the small red and green box. “I got you something.”

Liz and Maria had gone to get them some drinks and Christmas cookies, and everyone else was more preoccupied with their partner or family member to pay them any mind, but Max’s cheeks turned hot anyway as Alex looked down and realized that Max had, indeed, been talking to him.

He reached out, hesitated, and slowly took it. “For me?”

“For you,” Max chuckled.

Alex carefully unwrapped it, as if afraid that tearing the paper would break Max’s heart. It made the sheriff’s smile widen. He pulled out a Christmas ornament in the shape of a reindeer.

“For your tree,” Max said. “To thank you for helping me out with uh…”

“Rudolph?” Alex supplied, and the two burst into laughter. It felt just as it did last night, a spontaneous moment of joy that seemed to stem from nowhere and left him feeling warm and toasty inside, as if he’d had another cup of Alex’s famous hot chocolate.

Alex held the reindeer up, his brows furrowed slightly as he smiled, as if he still couldn’t believe anybody had brought him anything. “Thanks, Evans.”

Max put his hands in his pockets, unable to help but smile at the fact that Alex was no longer surveying the room, no longer looking for anyone else. Max knew that wouldn’t last long, but at least for now – for _this_ moment – he made Alex happy.


	3. Malex

_“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la.”_

Michael smiled as his boyfriend sang. Alex wasn’t the cheery type of person, always careful to keep his feelings close to his chest. Except on Christmas. The airman seemed to love decorating, baking, watching cheesy Christmas movies. It was refreshing, seeing him so openly happy, not caring, for this short time of the year, whether or not he deserved to be.

Michael looked over his shoulder at the airman from where he was hanging the tinsel, watching the way he carefully decorated each gingerbread man on the tray, and bit his lower lip.

Alex was too busy singing along to the Christmas radio to notice Michael coming into the kitchen. He gasped when Michael suddenly wrapped an arm around his waist, and kissed the nape of his neck.

“Guerin!” Startled, Alex accidentally squeezed too much frosting out of the bag, and the gingerbread man looked more like a gingerbread cyclops.

“Mistletoe,” Michael smirked against Alex’s neck, and Alex looked up to see that Michael had indeed been holding a mistletoe above their heads. “Always so alert, and you let a plant get past you?”

Alex sighed, turning in his hold. He squeezed some frosting onto Michael’s cheek. “You know you can’t just keep following me around with that thing, right?”

“Did you just decorate my face?”

“No,” Alex bit his lower lip to keep his grin from widening, and right away, Michael knew where this was going. “But you definitely look sweeter.”

Michael squinted, trying to keep a serious face, but as Alex laughed so heartily at his own stupid joke, the corners of his lips quirked upward. “This season is breaking you.”

Alex’s laughter died down as he leaned forward, and slowly licked the frosting off his skin. Michael’s eyes fluttered shut, his arm around Alex pulling him in tighter. When he was cleaned up, his forehead fell into the crook of Alex’s neck, where it always fit so perfectly, and he hummed, content.

“Silly cowboy,” Alex muttered fondly, wrapping his own arms around Michael’s shoulders. After a few minutes passed, he said, “We do have to move at some point though.”

Michael grumbled. “Mistletoe.”

“That doesn’t keep us glued together,” Alex laughed, and Michael smiled.

“I love hearing you laugh,” he said, and even without looking at Alex, he knew the airman was blushing. He pulled back to see that he was right, his boyfriend’s face red and warm.

Michael couldn’t take it. He wanted to kiss him. So he did. It started out innocently enough, with their lips pressed together, but then Michael slipped his tongue in, and Alex gasped. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and all but devoured Alex’s mouth. The cookies still needed to be decorated, the tree still needed its star, and if they didn’t have everything ready in time and put away, Buffy would wake up and eat it all… but Alex smelled so good, and he tasted like cinnamon, and his skin was so _warm_ that Michael just wanted to feel more of it. He slipped his hand up Alex’s shirt, inhaling sharply at the feel of his soft, strong back. The Christmas music played on as Alex released a breathy moan against Michael’s lips.

“It’s too warm in here,” Michael muttered, and took Alex’s lower lip between his teeth. “Take your clothes off.”

Alec grinned and took Michael’s lips in his, moaning. The sound had Michael pushing him back against the counter. “Mistletoe won’t get you that far, Guerin.”

Michael dug his nails into Alex’s back, making him gasp. “Won’t it?”

“Okay,” Alex said, ripping Michael’s shirt open as Michael let the mistletoe fall from his hand, and onto the counter. “Maybe it will.”


	4. Malex

The rain poured outside, the humming whirr of the computer on Alex’s lap played on, and the sound of Michael’s soft breathing as he slept filled the room. Alex opened his eyes. His lids felt heavy, and his back was aching from sitting against the headboard, but he couldn’t stop now. If he stopped, he’d fall asleep, and if he fell asleep –

He pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes, and exhaled. He looked to Michael, the curls splayed over his eyes as he slept on his stomach. He had one hand in Alex’s shirt, something he tended to do every night, insistent that he was just trying to comfort Alex, though Alex suspected it was to comfort himself. To remind himself that Alex was there, safe with him, and not in some ditch somewhere with a weapon in hand and fire in the background. Little did he know that, in the dead of night when he dared close his eyes, Alex was back in that ditch, with that gun, and the smell of smoke surrounding him.

_Whatever_ , he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. All veterans suffered nightmares, it was just something else to learn to live with. He resumed his typing, the light of the screen burning his eyes no matter how much he dimmed it.

He only realized he was dozing off when he felt an arm come around his waist.

“Do you hear a jingling?” Michael grumbled, half-asleep.

“Hm?” Alex stopped typing.

“Do you hear a jingling,” he repeated, and Alex huffed a chuckle, running a hand through Michael’s curls, moving them out of his face.

“Are you even awake?”

“It’s probably Santa,” he said, ignoring Alex’s question. “You should sleep so he can come in.”

Alex smiled tiredly. “Should I?”

“He knows if you’re awake,” he said. “Haven’t you ever heard the song?”

Alex scoffed and pressed a kiss to Michael’s temple. “Got it. Just give me another minute, and I’ll go straight to sleep.”

Michael leaned up on his elbow, rubbing his face against Alex’s arm. Alex smiled. Michael checked the time on his phone before letting it drop onto the nightstand.

“Alex, it’s the middle of the night. You said, _‘another minute,’_ four hours ago.”

“I just really need to finish this.”

“But Santa,” Michael said, as if that was supposed to be his only, and best, argument.

When Alex didn’t respond, Michael sighed, shut the laptop for him, and moved it off the bed despite Alex’s protests.

“Shh, shh.” Michael tugged on Alex’s waist to make him lie down, and pulled him against his naked chest, his arms tight around him. “If you try to get up again, Private, I’ll launch your computer right out the window. See all your military coding try to survive the rain.”

Alex shook his head. “That’s a terrible misuse of your powers.”

“Right,” Michael scoffed, and Alex felt the cowboy’s hot breath on his forehead. “‘Cause if there’s anything I’ve ever been with my powers, it’s responsible.”

Alex only exhaled deeply as he felt Michael’s chest rise and fall beneath his fists. He was exhausted, every fiber in his being urging him to sleep, and with Michael’s scent engulfing him, he found it impossible to keep his eyes open… but he could still smell the smoke, and hear the explosions, and despite the rain and the computer’s humming and Michael’s breathing, there was still so much noise that it was all Alex could do not to cover his ears.

Then he felt Michael’s hand run down the back of his head, then again, his fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck – and it all turned to silence.

“I’ll kill anything that tries to touch you, Alex,” Michael suddenly said into the darkness, his voice quiet but strong enough to reverberate throughout every corner of Alex’s mind and heart. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. He slowly wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist, not knowing what else to do. It wasn’t a surprise that Michael wanted to protect him, but Alex had lived his entire life with a weight on his shoulders he had been resigned to carry, only growing more and more every day. Now someone wanted to take some of that weight away, to help him stand, to _breathe_ , better. He didn’t know what to do that.

Michael pulled him in tighter, and suddenly, all Alex could hear was the rain, his and Michael’s soft breathing, and Michael’s heartbeat through his chest. Beating for _him_.

“For Santa, Alex.”

A soft smile tugged at Alex’s lips. It was true, Alex really _didn’t_ know what to do with someone loving him so much, they were willing to burn the world for him. But for tonight, he would close his eyes. He could do that much.

“For Santa.”


	5. Malex

“Nice tree.”

Alex looked over his shoulder at a shirtless Michael in his doorway. He turned back to his Christmas tree where he was currently hanging up a candy cane, and smiled to himself. It shouldn’t have brought him so much joy to see Michael there, to know that Michael had slept in his bed, that he’d _been_ sleeping in his bed for the past three weeks. It shouldn’t have made him so happy to believe in this as the new norm. But it did.

“Thanks,” he said, biting his lower lip to keep his grin from widening as he felt Michael’s arm come around his waist, Michael’s chin hooked over his shoulder. He was dressed in a large sweatshirt and sweatpants, yet he could feel Michael’s heartbeat against his back, Michael’s muscles as they flexed against him, Michael’s warmth through the fabric.

Michael pressed his lips to the nape of Alex’s neck, and inhaled. “You smell so good,” he breathed. “Have I ever told you that?”

Alex thought of Michael muttering those same words – praising Alex’s scent, his touch, his _taste –_ against the airman’s skin over and over last night as they shared each other’s bodies, both of them glistening with sweat and radiating heat.

Alex turned in his hold, hooking his arms around Michael’s shoulders. “Once or twice,” he said, and pressed his lips to the cowboy’s. Michael moaned softly as he ran his hands up and down Alex’s sides. When Alex pulled back, his forehead pressed to Michael’s, his eyes remained closed.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Michael said, and Alex’s eyes opened fractionally. Michael didn’t really use the word ‘baby,’ not unless they were in bed together and the heat was so perfect and unbearable that it just slipped out. But whether Michael meant to use it or not, Alex always _loved_ it. He loved knowing he was _that_ to Michael, loved being the only one who could uncover that side of him.

Alex pecked his lips. “You’re up early,” he said, pushing a curl behind Michael’s ear with his thumb.

Michael hummed, his eyes on Alex’s lips as his arm tightened around his waist. “How do you expect me to sleep alone, Private? You abandoned me, left me to a very cold and very _empty_ side of the bed.”

Alex laughed. “ _Abandoned_? Guerin, I had to start decorating for Christmas, my schedule –”

“Ah, yes,” Michael rolled his eyes. “Your schedule. You know, I can help with that,” he said, already sliding a hand up Alex’s shirt. Alex gasped and pulled his wrist down, leaning in close to smile against Michael’s lips.

“No,” Alex said, “no, I know what your version of _help_ means.”

“Would it _help_ if I talked about strategy to get you in the mood?” Michael suggested. “Show me your exit points, baby. Tell me how much you love my armed forces.”

“You’re such a loser,” Alex’s laugh died as Michael pulled him in, devouring his lips. Nothing but Alex’s tree had been put up. He’d never gotten to properly celebrate Christmas before, and had resolved, in his last few months in the Air Force, that if he made it out, he would start the holiday preparations as soon as December 1st.

According to his schedule, he ought to have finished decorating the tree by now, but as his back hit the branches, and he gasped against Michael’s lips – as Michael’s hand came around Alex’s back, protecting him from being poked, as Michael promised him, “I’ll protect you, baby,” Alex could only fall further into the kiss. Michael carried him back to the bed, his body hot against Alex’s, and Alex thought that as far as Christmas celebrations went, this was a good way to start.


	6. Max x Alex

“Hey, thanks for doing this with me,” Max said. “Liz is busy, and Michael and Isobel aren’t really big book fans.”

“It’s fine,” Alex smiled, moving fantasy and romance books into boxes. “It’s great, actually. I’ve always loved these stories.” He sighed. “And it feels good to help someone on Christmas.”

Max smiled to himself. He didn’t think the statement warranted such a warmth in his chest, but it was a small bookstore with overflowing shelves, the sun shined through the glass windows, revealing the dust as it flied off the covers, and the old woman behind the counter grinned at them over her steaming cup of tea. Max felt as if he and Alex belonged there somehow, as if they’d grown up between these walls together; this small, forgotten piece of their small town.

He chuckled as he picked up a smaller book, its binding old and tattered. “Alex, look at this.”

Alex, holding onto his own few books, checked the cover and gasped softly. “ _‘The Little Prince.’_ I used to love this book.”

“Me, too,” Max said. “‘And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; It is only with the heart that one can see rightly –”

“—what is essential is invisible to the eye,’” Alex finished with a soft smile, reaching out to touch the little blond boy on the cover as if he reminded Alex of someone he once knew.

Alex was not short by any means, but it did something to Max’s chest to have those few extra inches on the airman, to catch his eyes as they glimmered to gold in the sunlight, to witness his hard edges, sharpened around others all the time – as if he didn’t dare rest – now turned soft in this cozy little place.

“I bet the kids will love it, too,” he said, and at that, Alex looked up, his smile widening. Max didn’t think he’d ever seen Alex genuinely _smile_ this much before. He realized he was staring, and looked away, clearing his throat. “Uh – what’s that?”

“Oh,” Alex glanced at the books in his hands, and hid them behind his back. “ _Oh_ – er – nothing, just some Shakespeare sonnets.”

“Really?” he felt the beginnings of a smirk tug at his lips. “Oh great, I love Shakespeare. Can I see?”

But they were already laughing, and Alex was already backing away. “No, _do not_ come near me,” he warned.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Alex.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?”

“Then let me see the books.” He tried to reach behind Alex, but even with the prosthetic, the airman was quick. He stepped under Max’s arm, and in an instant, had his back against the counter.

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t!”

“No!”

“Jane Austen,” the old woman suddenly said, her eyes squinted at the titles. “He’s got that _Persuasion_ book, and – what – _Sense and Sensibility_?”

Alex’s shoulders slumped as Max reached him with a laugh, taking the books from his hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Carol,” the airman said.

“Honey, if he mocks Jane Austen, dump him,” she chuckled, heading to the backdoor. “That’s just good sense.”

“No, Mrs. Carol, we’re not together.”

“Uh – sorry, we’re not actually dating,” Max and Alex said at once, but the old woman had retreated to the other room. “ _Aaand_ she’s gone. Well, uh, if it’s any consolation, I love Jane Austen.” For some reason, Max found he was suddenly unable to look at Alex. “But I – uh – I never pegged you for a romance fan.”

Alex chuckled, the sound different than before. Quieter. “If it’s done well. Good love stories are… rare.” He gently plucked the books back out of Max’s hands. “But if you think about telling anybody, just know that I’m still enlisted, and I have friends in the Air Force that can hack even your dental records. You don’t want me to have all of that information, Evans.”

Max laughed. “It’ll be our secret.” He hesitated, then, making as if he was preoccupied with the books, said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. I love this place, but it could do with some holiday cheer.”

Alex raised a brow, his smile returning to place, and all of a sudden, Max felt like a genius. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged. “A tree? Tinsel?”

“Some lights?” Alex offered, and Max’s smile widened.

“Absolutely,” he said. “I mean, I’d have to check in with Mrs. Carol, but I think she’d be fine if I came over tomorrow and put some things up. Would you… maybe like to help me?”

Alex blinked. “Oh – uh – sure, yeah.”

“I mean, you don’t have to –”

“No, no, really I’d like to –”

“I just thought it might be fun –”

“Max, I,” he chuckled, and Max looked to find him busying himself with another box, the sun shining off his hair, bathing him in gold. “I _want_ to. I think you’re right. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” Max breathed, and this time, for whatever reason (one he chose not to think about too much), he found he could not look away.


	7. Malex

Michael had discovered not too long ago the value of a fireplace nap. He had never been the Christmas celebrating type, but after he’d woken up one night to find his arm around Alex, the two curled in against one another on a warm rug, the flames lit and shining an orange and golden glow against the airman’s soft skin while the gentle twinkling of the Christmas lights on the tree protected them from the darkness, Michael finally understood why people loved the holiday.

It was a cold night when Michael had fallen asleep on the floor, yet again, Alex right across from him, his fingers curled in the rug, inching closer to Michael even in his sleep. Michael let his head fall back down, exhaling deeply before he forced himself to sit up, and wake his boyfriend.

The flames were dying, and as tough as Alex was, Michael knew how much more painful his leg turned in the cold.

“Hey. Hey, baby,” he said softly, bringing a hand around Alex’s back, the other behind the airman’s knees. “Hold onto me.”

But Alex squirmed away, muttering something in his sleep, his eyes still closed. He turned to face the fire, and must’ve realized that it had dimmed because he reached a hand closer to the fireplace, trying to feel the warmth.

“Come on, Alex,” he said, pressing a kiss to his airman’s temple. “Let me carry you.”

Alex shook his head. “I want to sleep here,” he muttered so quietly that, had it not been only them for miles, Michael might’ve missed it.

“The bed’s a lot more comfortable.”

Alex was very stubborn when he wanted to be, stubborn enough to wear emo clothes in high school despite it being everything his father hated, stubborn enough to keep coming back to the airstream even after one stupid, _stupid_ cowboy gave him reasons not to (Michael was lucky Alex loved just as stubbornly), and go about his day with a sword in hand and a question on his tongue after being told to lie in bed and rest.

Michael rubbed a hand up and down Alex’s side, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm. “Alright, baby,” he said, “whatever you say.”

He focused his gaze on the dying flames, felt the heat and electricity surge throughout his entire body, and in an instant, the fire started to regain life. Michael had wanted them to get into bed to make it more comfortable for Alex, but he would be lying if he said he felt troubled to be here again, in this space of toasty bliss, with his favorite person.

Michael watched as a large blanket flew in from the bedroom. Buffy, who had been curled on the rug a few feet away, looked up momentarily at the blanket, then, having seen it all before, put her head down again and closed her big brown eyes.

When the blanket settled, Michael pulled it up to Alex’s chin, and Alex squirmed, mumbled something in his sleep, and reached an arm out to hook around Michael’s waist, pulling him in closer.

Michael grinned, and kissed Alex’s forehead. “I love you, too, Private.”


	8. Malex

Michael hated Christmas. Why? Because it gave people the idea that they could come into his airstream, without warning, in the early morning so long as they yelled the words, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” and _every time_ , Michael barely resisted the urge to shoot them back out into the desert. But Michael had been through one hell of a year, and he wasn’t having it this December.

When Max had come in, Michael had grabbed the bowl of uneaten cookie dough he’d had on the floor beside him, and launched it at his brother. Max ended up with the stuff in his hair for a week, but as far as Michael was concerned, he had _warned_ them. No jolly, no cheer, _no Christmas_. Too much had happened, and Michael just didn’t want it.

After the whole Isobel and bucket of snow incident, Michael figured they had understood not to bother him. That was why, when he woke up one morning to someone opening his front door, he hadn’t bothered with the tricks or the batter, but he nearly pulled himself out of bed.

“If you say Merry Christmas, I _swear_ –”

Michael froze, his words caught in his throat as a startled Alex Manes stood, his brow raised. “You’ll yell ‘humbug?’”

“Alex,” Michael breathed, and realized too late that he was not wearing a shirt. He quickly grabbed one off the floor, and pulled it over his head. “What – uh – what’re you doing here?”

“Sorry,” Alex said, holding a plastic bag. “I know it’s early, but I’m going to be at the soup kitchen for breakfast, so I wouldn’t have been able to get these to you fresh.”

Michael took the bag, trying to ignore the way electricity shot up his arm as his fingers brushed the airman’s. He cleared his throat. “The soup kitchen, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s Christmas, you know?”

“Yeah,” he huffed a chuckle, his eyes on Alex. “My favorite holiday.”

Alex glanced at his messy bed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Uh huh.”

Michael tried very hard not to stare, but it was _Alex_ , and Alex didn’t really come to his airstream much anymore, didn’t really bring him fresh waffles in the morning, didn’t stand there as Michael took his first bite and smile when Michael moaned at the taste.

“I love you,” he said before he could help it, and looked to see Alex’s reaction. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, but as Alex looked away as if he hadn’t heard the words at all, Michael realized he’d wanted a _little_ acknowledgment to what he’d said. Then Alex coughed, and Michael noticed his cheeks were tinted red. He smiled.

“The others told me you weren’t letting them in,” Alex finally said, and Michael stilled midbite. “They wanted to make sure you were eating.”

Michael set the plastic fork down. “So you’re here because Max asked you to come?”

Alex stared, then softly said, “No.”

He looked at Michael as if asking if he was really questioning whether or not Alex would’ve wanted to come regardless of anyone’s requests.

“No?” he said, aware of the hitch in his throat.

Alex blinked several times and looked away. “Uh, s-so, have you given any thought to what you want? You know, for Christmas?”

Michael scoffed. “You,” he muttered so quietly that even Alex’s trained senses couldn’t catch it.

“Hm?”

Michael shook his head, stuffing a large piece of waffle down his throat. “I said you don’t actually believe in that stuff, do you? Christmas miracles, Santa, gifts under the tree –”

“Of course I believe in it,” Alex said, leaning against the counter, his hands in his pockets. Michael realized he hadn’t considered what the cold was doing to his airman’s leg.

“Huh,” he said. “That’s not very rational and military-like of you.”

“They didn’t suck my _entire_ soul out, you know,” Alex said, though his voice was free of any malice or bitterness. “If Christmas doesn’t make you happy, then nothing will.”

Michael scoffed, reaching across Alex for the napkins. His lips were barely an inch or two from Alex’s when he said, his voice low, “Don’t be so sure.”

When he pulled back, Alex was shaking his head, a smile at his lips despite how hard he seemed to be trying to keep it hidden. Michael’s heart fluttered. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I _do_. You’re insufferably charming, and I hate you for it.”

Michael bit his lower lip, grinning. His and Alex’s relationship hadn’t been great, it hadn’t been what he wanted, but it was better than it had been in a very long time, and sometimes, just _sometimes_ , Alex let slip a few choice words that turned Michael’s neck and cheeks hot. Words that Michael suspected the airman had often forced himself not to say. Or maybe Michael just never deserved to hear them. But when he did, he _heard_ them. Loud and clear.

He dared inch closer, one hand gripping the counter on Alex’s other side. “You know,” he swallowed. “If you have time, we can… do something better than waffles for breakfast.”

It was a bold question to ask nowadays. _Do you want to?_ It had never been easy, but Michael used to be almost certain of the answer. Alex had always given him access first. Michael had rarely started. But he could think of nothing he wanted more _now_ , with Alex so close and the scent of sugar in the air. Michael was incredibly careful, incredibly gentle as he moved to cage Alex against the counter, his eyes falling to the airman’s lips.

His eyes fluttered halfway shut as he leaned in, and his lips barely brushed Alex’s before the airman pulled away. “I – er – I can’t,” he said. “I promised I’d get there early to help set up.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “O-okay.”

Alex’s expression softened. “I really did promise.”

Michael waved his concern off, but the gesture felt half-hearted. “No, yeah, I know.”

Alex’s shoulders slumped, and he looked to the door, then to Michael, and muttered, “Damnit, Guerin,” before he took Michael’s face in his hands, and crashed their lips together.

Michael gasped against Alex’s mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the airman’s tongue against his. He wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist, holding him closely to him.

It felt like the kiss had barely started before a loud ringing went off, and Alex pulled away with a light groan. Michael only hesitantly let him move far enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. Michael saw an alarm for _‘KITCHEN SET UP’_ blaring on the screen. He looked up at Alex. He really had planned on going early, and had even set an alarm, so he was _worried_ he’d lose track of time with Michael.

“Sorry, Guerin, I really should get –”

But Alex’s words were cut short as Michael pulled him in again, pressing his lips roughly against Alex’s. When he pulled back, their foreheads were pressed together, and Michael was grinning, his eyes closed.

“Come right back when you’re done, okay? We’ll go together tomorrow.” He opened his eyes to see Alex watching him with curious but amused eyes. He shrugged. “It’s the holidays.”

Alex’s smile softened. “Uh huh. Oh, and,” he turned at the door, his eyes kind. “Merry Christmas, Grinch.”

And with that, Alex left. Michael touched his fingers to his lips, remembering Alex’s taste, his touch, his warmth – and he smiled. His heart, though he’d never confess it, beat three times as fast at the thought of the airman.

“Merry Christmas, Alex,” he said in the silence of his airstream. He supposed that Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.


	9. Malex

Michael woke to the smell of coffee. He didn’t remember how he’d ended up at Alex’s cabin, but when he’d woken up, the airman nowhere to be found, Michael stumbled out of bed with the sole intention of finding him and asking him what had happened last night.

As Michael came groggily into the living room and caught sight of Alex, he froze. The airman was laughing with Buffy who was barking at his heels. There was a steaming mug of coffee on the table, and one in Alex’s hands as his eyes went between the lights and ornaments of the Christmas tree, and the television screen as it played an episode of Friends.

Michael’s thoughts turned silent as he watched Alex laugh along to the sitcom, his smile wide and bright. It had been so long since he’d seen Alex genuinely smile like that, and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the airman.

“Good – _oh_ ,” Alex gasped as Michael wrapped his arms around his waist, pressed his nose to the nape of Alex’s neck. “Hi.”

Michael inhaled Alex’s scent, exhaling on a, “Hey,” of his own. He kissed the crook of Alex’s neck to test the waters, and when Alex didn’t pull back, moved the trail to Alex’s jaw, his cheek, then gently turned the airman’s head to capture his lips. Michael moaned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed Alex, and he didn’t know if it was because the two might’ve had some drunk night together last night that he was suddenly confident, but Alex was kissing him back, cupping his cheek, and pulling him in deeper as he tried not to drop his coffee, and Michael was encouraged to keep going.

It was when he slid a hand under Alex’s shirt, feeling for the first time in _months_ Alex’s toned stomach that the airman made a small noise of protest against his lips and pulled back. “Whoa, s-stop, stop.”

Alex’s hand was tight around his wrist, and Michael found he didn’t want him to let go. “Yeah?”

“I just,” Alex shook his head. “I don’t want a repeat of last night,” he said softly, and he released Michael’s arm. He stared at Michael a moment, seemingly waiting for something – a reaction, a confession, _something_ (though Michael struggled to figure out what) – and when Michael could only return his searching eyes with his own curious ones, Alex visibly deflated. It was only for a split second, and had Michael not known Alex as well as he did, he might’ve missed it. As it was, he did so he had.

“Uh – I made coffee,” he said, holding up his own mug and gesturing to the one on the table. “The eggs should be finished boiling by now.” He walked past Michael, avoiding his gaze. Michael frowned.

“Wait,” he said, and Alex looked over his shoulder. He should’ve let it go, should’ve pretended he was fine with Alex being so far away from him, that he was fine with being kept behind Alex’s walls, no different than everyone else. But he wasn’t fine, and it was Christmas, and if there was any time a year to say something heartfelt and stupid, this was it. “Last night… we didn’t…”

Alex’s brows furrowed in confusion a moment before he blinked, realization dawning. “You don’t remember?”

“I,” Michael hesitated, then at Buffy nudging his ankle with her nose, said, “I remember getting drunk. Don’t remember what happened after.”

Alex pursed his lips, and sighed, setting his mug down. “Acetone. You had a lot of it, and you tried to kiss me.”

Michael’s heart nearly came to a stop. He didn’t dare step closer. “ _Alex_ ,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t –”

“I was drunk,” Alex said. “So really, don’t – don’t apologize. But,” he cleared his throat, “the acetone was all over you, and it got into my mouth, and… I got pretty sick after that.” As sort of an afterthought, Alex added, his voice lighter, “But hey, I’m a lot better now. I don’t even remember half of it, honestly. I just woke up in the middle of the night on the bathroom floor, and I cleaned myself up, and came to finish the night on the couch.

Michael looked and now saw that there were in fact sheets and a pillow folded neatly on the armchair. He felt guilt eat his insides. He was never, he decided, _never_ having acetone again.

“So you really don’t remember?” Alex asked, and Michael didn’t fail to notice the hopeful question in his voice, the way his eyes twinkled as if everything he had was hanging on to whatever Michael’s next words would be. Michael realized Alex had thought he had purposely blocked out the kiss (as if he ever could), and for once, chose the truth.

“Not a thing,” he said. “I wish I did. Sounds like a crappy way to end the night.”

A soft smile tugged at Alex’s lips. “Not really,” he said, reaching for his mug again. “I like taking care of you.”

Michael swallowed. He came to stand in front of Alex, plucking the warm drink out of his hands, and setting it on the counter. “I should’ve been taking care of you.”

“It was just a night, Guerin.”

Michael gently pushed Alex’s bangs back from his eyes, his fingers coming down to tilt Alex’s chin up, bringing their lips closer. “I’m not just talking about last night, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered halfway shut, and as their lips brushed one another, Michael asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Alex grinned. “Please do already.” And with the show playing on in the background, and Buffy’s cheerful barking, Michael closed the distance between them.


	10. Malex

“If you could wish for anything, what would it be?”

Michael turned his head to watch Alex’s profile. They were lying on opposite ends of Alex’s bed in his cabin, their shoes off, Alex’s prosthetic against the bed, his crutches against the headboard. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Alex so well rested, but the look suited him. His windswept hair splayed against the pale-blue sheets and curled slightly below his ears, his long lashes curled against his rosy cheeks, golden specs danced across the brown of his eyes. He wore a long white sweater, the sleeves down to even the tips of his fingers, and when he realized Michael was staring, his beautiful rosy lips broke out into a shy smile.

“What?”

Michael returned to staring at the ceiling, moving his head closer to Alex’s so that their temples touched. He sighed, content. “Nothing. Why the random question?”

“Come on,” Alex said. “It’s Christmas. You have to want _something_.”

Michael smirked. “Well, what do _you_ want, Private?”

Alex said nothing for a moment. Michael wondered how often the airman was asked what he wanted, and if he needed a moment to actually consider it. The thought made him angry, that Alex had spent his entire life living for others that he struggled to know what he wanted for himself. Then Alex pecked his cheek lightly, and all his troubles vanished in an instant. Alex’s lips really _were_ as warm as they looked.

“This,” he said. “Just this. Forever.”

“Forever,” Michael smiled. “I don’t know, I think we’d get hungry.”

“You know what I mean,” Alex laughed, and Michael’s eyes fell shut as he took the beautiful sound in. He thought he could spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh. “Us. Together. No secret government organizations, no alien enemies. A warm house, a town that minded its own business, and… a Christmas tree.”

“Oh, that’s a must, is it?”

“Totally,” Alex scoffed. “Imagine Christmas without a Christmas tree.”

“Outrage.”

“Exactly. What about you?” he turned on his side, pillowing his head on his arms. “I know you want something. Everyone wants something for Christmas.”

Michael pursed his lips to keep his smile from widening. “You really wanna know?”

“I really want to know. Tell me.”

“Alex,” Michael shook his head. How could Alex not _already_ know? Michael was basically a koala, holding onto him every second of every day, clinging to him whenever they were in the same room, kissing every part that he could reach when they were alone. Michael had stopped wanting to go anywhere Alex wasn’t for a long time, had stopped wanting to sleep in a bed that Alex wasn’t in, had stopped wanting to eat unless he knew that Alex was beside him, eating and happy and comfortable, too.

“ _You_ ,” he said. “I want you, Alex.”

Alex blinked, his smile faltering. “Michael…”

“I don’t care where we live, how small the place is, how nosy, how loud. _I don’t care_. I just want _you_. You’re all that matters. You’re all that’s ever mattered.”

Alex said nothing for a moment, and Michael wondered if maybe he’d said something wrong. Then Alex suddenly took Michael’s face in his hands, and he was kissing the cowboy into the mattress.

“Hm!” Michael managed as Alex pulled away. “What was that for—”

“I love you,” Alex said, his breath hot against Michael’s lips. “I love you so much, Michael, I _love_ you.”

Michael’s cheeks hurt with how hard he was smiling, his chest aching with how hard his heart hammered. He reached up to hold Alex’s waist. “Yeah?”

He nodded, and as he did, his lips brushed against Michael’s. “Yeah.” And he took Michael’s lips slowly before he pulled back again. Michael made a sound of protest in the back of his throat, and Alex laughed against his lips. “Are you _sure_ you wouldn’t want anything else?”

Michael shook his head. “I told you, Private. You’re it for me,” he breathed before he pulled Alex back down, taking his lips in his. _Nothing_ , he thought. Nothing he could ever get under the Christmas tree could be more special than Alex.


	11. Malex

Michael took a small sip of his coffee, his eyes fluttering shut as the hot drink traveled down his throat, and soothed his aching muscles.

“Oh boy,” Alex said as he took a seat on the couch across from him, and Michael groaned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“What’re you doing over there?” he said. He was well aware that he was whining, but he didn’t care. He reached out to the airman, able to only touch his sleeve from where he sat. “Come sit here.”

Alex scoffed, but took Michael’s hand and kissed his fingers before releasing him, lying back and crossing his left leg. “Guerin, you’re in pain, you don’t need my weight on you.”

Michael’s head hung back. “Worst Christmas ever,” he said, and Alex actually laughed. He _laughed_. If Michael wasn’t so in love with his boyfriend’s voice, if hearing his boyfriend’s happiness didn’t make him happier than he could bear, he might’ve been mad.

“December just started, and you’re overworked. Nothing is ruined, I just want you to rest.”

“Come ‘ere,” he said, and Alex shook his head, moving further back into the couch as Michael kept trying to touch him. “ _Alex_ —

“You’re such a baby,” Alex was barely saying, his own coffee nearly spilling out of his mug as he tried to avoid Michael’s hand, before the doorbell rang. Alex set his cup down, pushed himself off the couch, and ruffled Michael’s curls, quickly snatching his hand away with a laugh before Michael got to grab it and pull him down.

He opened the door to reveal Michael’s sister, Isobel. She walked in without a word to either of them, slumped on the couch beside Michael, and took his cup from his hands.

“Hey!”

She held up a finger to silence him as she took a big gulp of his drink, and aside from the brief question as to how she could swallow the burning liquid when he could barely take more than a sip, Michael was agitated. He loved his sister, he did, but he needed her _not_ to be here today.

“That doesn’t sound good, either,” Alex said as he took his seat once again, attempting to reach for his mug before Michael used his powers to move it away. “Guerin!”

Michael only pointed at his lap stubbornly. He was done playing nice. If he wasn’t going to have his coffee, he was _going_ to have his Alex.

“DeLuca has very particular tastes,” Isobel said, staring at the wall, her hands on Michael’s mug as if using it to keep herself warm. “Do you have any idea how particular her tastes are?”

Alex blinked. He clearly did not expect this conversation on a Saturday morning. “Particular? Yeah, I guess she’s… _picky_ —”

“Picky? No, Alex,” she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “ _Mary Poppins_ is _picky_. DeLuca is _insane_.”

“Er—”

“Do you have any idea how many schematics I’ve shown her? I could move that entire second-class bar of hers to the North Pole, and it _still_ wouldn’t be—as she put it—‘Christmas-y enough.’ _Santa_ couldn’t give her a better Christmas party.” She huffed, slamming the cup back on the table. “And I put in all that work, too.”

The room was silent a moment, the only sound to be heard was Buffy as she chewed her kibble in the kitchen.

Michael sighed. On any other day, he might’ve just sat there and let Isobel rant, but his muscles were still sore from work yesterday at the junkyard, and all he wanted was to spend this morning with his boyfriend, and his dog, and the coffee his boyfriend had made specially for him. Instead, he got his sister, taking his coffee, and because of her, there was no way Alex—who hated public displays of affection enough as it was—would touch him now.

“Izzy,” he said, and shrugged, questioning every planet alignment in the multiverses that led to this moment in his life. “Why are you here?”

Isobel glared. “I’m _here_ to talk to Alex.”

“It’s Saturday! He’s not available!”

“I’m not leaving just because you’re horny, Michael!”

“He’s _my_ boyfriend!”

“He’s _my_ best friend!”

“Every Saturday,” Alex muttered, taking both mugs back to the kitchen.

“Alex, tell her to leave.”

“I’m not telling her to leave.”

Isobel rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You’re just jealous he likes me better than you.”

“ _Alex_!”

“Okay,” Alex sat down with a sigh, rubbing his face. “Just give me a second, I need to wake up. Alright, what’s going on?”

So Michael listened miserably as Isobel went on and on and _on_ about how Maria had kept her at the Wild Pony since yesterday, throwing out schematics for the Christmas Party every time they were almost finished, claiming that it wasn’t good enough, that the vision wasn’t clear, that they were getting closer, but not quite there. Finally, Isobel had snapped that if Maria didn’t like her work, she could’ve just told her, and she stormed out and came straight here, to Alex’s cabin, to disrupt Michael’s morning.

“You’re so stupid,” Michael said, shaking his head at the ceiling.

“Guerin—”

“Did I interrupt a blowjob, or something?” she snapped. “What’s your deal?”

“What’s _your_ deal?” he sat up. “She’s _keeping_ you there. She’s making excuses so you don’t leave. Why do you think that is?”

Isobel seemed to consider the answer. Her frown deepened, and Michael knew she realized what it was. “ _No_ ,” she said. “You’re—no, you’re crazy, that’s not why.”

And she looked to Alex, as if expecting him to give her the right answer. But Michael was a genius, too, despite not showing it as often as Alex did. In fact, he was sure everyone but Alex had probably forgotten that little detail about him; the fact that he observed, that he picked up on things and learned to piece them together. Granted, his poor choices where Alex had once been concerned discredited his intelligence, but he liked to think he’d learned from that, just as he did from everything else.

Alex knew that. So when Isobel had looked to him, he had looked to Michael with a shrug, and half a smile. Isobel’s eyes widened. “Oh my God…”

Michael realized Alex really wouldn’t come sit on his lap, so with a grunt, he pushed himself up, and settled his aching body on Alex instead, wrapping his arms around the airman’s neck.

Alex huffed a chuckle, running a hand up the nape of Michael’s neck. Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled Alex’s neck, his boyfriend’s warmth and the feel of his skin against Michael’s own soothed his muscles better than any cup of coffee ever could.

“You know she’s waiting for you,” he breathed, already hoping to fall asleep in Alex’s arms. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

“Damn it,” Michael heard his sister whisper, then there was a lot of rustling, and Isobel’s curses faded as she moved further and further away.

The door opened and slammed, Buffy barked a few times as if calling Isobel back, then she fell silent. Michael tightened his arms around Alex’s neck, pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s cheek. The locks around the cabin clicked.

“Did you just… lock the doors and windows?”

“In case she comes back,” Michael mumbled, and Alex laughed. Michael smiled against Alex’s neck, taking in the sound.

“You really are tired, aren’t you?”

“You should have just sat in my lap.”

“This isn’t comfortable enough? I could get up—”

“Don’t you dare,” Michael said, settling in. “Don’t move, Private. Not ‘til Christmas is over.”

He thought Alex might tease him, try to pull away, mock outrage or refusal, but he just felt Alex’s warm hand against his jaw, then Alex’s lips against his forehead, and for the first time that week, Michael felt at peace.

“Anything you want, Guerin.”


	12. Malex

Michael didn’t mind cleaning, contrary to what he was sure the entire town of Roswell thought. It was just that, living alone and working at a junkyard, he never felt the need to pick up every tiny thing, polish a window every other day, or make his bed every morning. But when Alex had said that he couldn’t hang out with him because he was going to spend the day doing some spring cleaning in December, Michael found no better use of his Saturday than helping the airman.

It wasn’t hard work, but it _was_ frustrating that Alex always insisted he could stand on the highest rung of a ladder to dust his bookshelves when Michael told him he could use his powers to do it instead. Alex, as it turned out, like to do things himself, and outright _laughed_ when Michael had called standing on a stool to rearrange the plates in his cabinet _‘dangerous.’_

He wished Alex would take a seat on the couch, put his legs up, and let Michael do the work. It was certainly better than hovering at Alex’s side as he stood on a chair trying to clean the top half of his window, his hands out, jumping at every little gasp or misstep the airman took.

It was driving Alex crazy. Michael knew this when Alex said, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“You’re going to fall,” Michael told him.

“I’m not going to fall.”

“You – Alex!” Michael put his hands on Alex’s thighs as the chair wobbled, and Alex gasped, holding onto the window frame to steady himself.

“Okay,” Alex sighed with visible effort, his eyes closed, his forehead against the wall. “Why don’t – er – why don’t you go tidy up the bedroom.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ll be fine. Go clean the room.”

“Alex –”

“Guerin, I love you so much, I do, but you’re making me anxious. Go clean up the room.”

After a lot of hesitance, and a lot of convincing on Alex’s part, Michael stepped away, keeping his eyes on Alex until he rounded the hall and couldn’t see him anymore. He sighed deeply as he sat at Alex’s bedside. The airman would be okay for a few minutes alone. Michael reached under the bed. He would start with the floor, then use his powers to clean up everything else. If he went back too soon, after all, Alex would find another way to get rid of him.

The thing about Alex was that he was already a neat person. He didn’t leave things like socks or discarded shirts lying around, so when Michael’s fingers closed around something solid, he was slightly surprised. He pulled it out, and saw that it was a photo album with the words _Christmas Memories_ engraved on the front. He blinked. Alex had a Christmas photo album? He peered his head out the door, making sure the airman wasn’t coming in, and opened to the first few set of pictures.

There he was, a boy no older than six or seven, in an ugly green Christmas sweater with a woman’s arms around him. The woman was young, and had Alex’s dark brown eyes and straight hair that came all the way down to her elbows. It must’ve been a candid photo because neither of them was looking at the camera, their smiles so wide that Michael could almost hear the laughter. Michael took it out, and looked at the back. _Ana and Alex, 1999._

The photos below it were of Alex and his brothers, Alex and his mom, Alex and Mimi or Arturo or Kyle. He was younger in some, older in others, but no matter what he was doing – baking Christmas cookies, decorating a tree, watching Christmas movies – he had that big, bright smile, and whether his front two teeth were missing or there was a gap between them, Michael knew one thing for sure; this Alex loved Christmas. None of the photos had Jesse, though some did look as if they’d been cut apart or torn, and someone that had initially been there no longer had any place.

Michael sat against the bed’s edge as he went through all the photos, touching his fingers to the little boy’s hair as if he could feel its soft texture. He wondered how this child could’ve been beaten down so badly for _years_ , and still come out with joy and kindness in his heart. As Michael sat there for hours, imagining the festive living room that had once seen so many great Christmases, he imagined the music, the smell of food in the air, the laughter that radiated from this once happy family. And he smiled.

He put the book back where he found it, and wondered if Alex ever planned to show it to him himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. Michael knew what he knew, understanding finally why Christmas always meant so much to the airman, and being in on that secret now made him feel special, like he was a permanent part of Alex’s life.

When he returned to the living room, Alex had just finished vacuuming the rug, and Michael engulfed him in a hug from behind.

“Whoa, hi,” Alex said, startled before he broke out into a laugh. Michael pressed his nose into the crook of Alex’s neck, taking in the beautiful sound. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Michael sighed, content. “I just love you so much.”

Alex raised a brow, and his smile softened. “I love you, too. Are you okay? You’re acting weird. Did all the cleaning get to you?”

Michael very serenely told Alex that he hadn’t cleaned a thing, and with another laugh from the airman, Michael felt his own smile widen. He pressed a kiss to Alex’s neck, then his shoulder. Michael wondered, as Alex covered the cowboy’s hands on his stomach with his own, if Alex would ever be willing to add their own Christmas memories to that album, if Michael could be part of his happiest memories, able to transcend the darkness of war and abuse and misery, and find their way to the airman several years later, hiding under his bed.

Michael thought it wasn't a bad idea.


	13. Malex

Michael woke to his favorite music. The air around his face was scorching, he was freezing, his muscles were weighing him down, and his eyelids felt heavy as he opened them. He vaguely remembered having caught a fever last night. Alex had been working in the kitchen, getting him hot water for his feet, a cold rag for his forehead, making him a cup of tea for his stomach – and in the midst of his miserable state, the last thing Michael wanted to do was sit in a bedroom without Alex. So he slept on the living room couch, watching the airman work in the kitchen.

Right now, he was going back and forth between the chopped vegetables and spices on the counter to a pot of something steaming – soup, Michael guessed – on the stove, singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas under his breath.

Michael closed his eyes, letting his boyfriend’s voice wash over him. Alex was always so careful not to sing loudly, not to be heard, even though Michael had told him several times that he loved it when he sang. He wished he would sing louder now.

No sooner had he felt himself drift off to the music than he felt himself gently stirred awake by a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” Alex said, sitting on the carpet beside him with a bowl of hot soup, the smell appealing even now when Michael felt like he could hardly stomach anything at all. Alex’s hands were warm from the bowl as he tucked a curl behind Michael’s ear. With a glance at the clock, Michael realized he’d just slept for another half hour. He must really be out of it. “I made you some food.”

“’Lex,” Michael mumbled, his lungs feeling swollen in his throat.

“I know you don’t feel like it, but you have to eat.”

Alex’s voice was so soft. Michael didn’t know if he was too hazed to hear him properly, or if the airman was purposefully being quiet so as not to disrupt the peace brought on by the faint piano music in the background playing Silent Night.

Alex set the meal aside, and helped Michael into a sitting position against the cushions. He sat down beside him, and put the bowl in his lap, carefully blowing on a spoonful before feeding it to Michael. The cowboy swallowed with eyes shut tight, the simple act difficult with the state of his lungs, and after another few spoons, his head fell onto Alex’s shoulder. The soup was good, and the logical, grownup part of Michael knew it was good for him to eat, but he was sick, and didn’t feel like being a logical grownup.

He groaned, muttering nonsensical words even to his own ears as he nuzzled Alex’s neck, wrapping an arm around his waist, and cuddling up to him as if he was a giant pillow.

Alex sighed, and Michael heard a laugh. He ran a hand up Michael’s back, and even through the many layers, Michael could feel him.

“Sing,” he muttered.

“Hm?”

Michael held Alex tighter, sighing deeply against the airman’s warm sweater as he felt a thick blanket pulled over the both of them, the bowl of soup lay forgotten on the coffee table.

“Sing, Alex. Wanna hear you sing,” was all Michael was able to say.

Alex said nothing for a moment, then, so softy that Michael felt every bone in his body absolutely melt to the sound, Alex sang to the piano music. As Silent Night played on, the flames crackled in the fireplace, and Alex’s heart beat against Michael’s ear, Michael fell asleep.


	14. Kylex

“This isn’t bad,” Kyle said, his hands on his hips as he and Alex looked over their work.

Alex had no idea why they had given them the responsibility of decorating the tree outside the Crashdown Café, but he had to admit, he had had a lot of fun doing it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hung up a single ornament for Christmas, let alone decorated an entire tree.

He turned to look at Kyle’s profile, the way he smiled up at the piece of art, the way the lights shined against his face, the colors and shadows softening his sharp cheekbones, and making his dark eyes somehow brighter.

“Right?” Kyle said, and as he turned to Alex, Alex quickly looked away.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s great.”

He’d been doing that a lot lately, he realized. Staring. He wished he could stop, wished his heart didn’t jump every time Kyle smiled, wished he didn’t enjoy the way Kyle’s skin felt when their hands brushed, but it seemed this entire season was against him because the desire to be near the doctor only grew every day. Alex wanted to shoot himself.

“You okay?” Kyle asked. “Your face is all red.”

“Hm? Yeah,” he waved it off. He was really glad he’d spent a decade in the military so that all of his training keeping his emotions under control flew right out the window at a pair of dark eyes and a kind smile. “It’s just cold.”

“Oh, here,” Kyle said, taking his own jacket off, and draping it over Alex’s shoulders despite the airman’s fidgeting.

“O-oh,” he said, adjusting it. “Thanks.” It wasn’t that cold. He didn’t need a jacket. But this one smelled like Kyle, and the beer Alex had had earlier must’ve been stronger than he thought, because he could feel Kyle’s weight around him, as if he was being hugged. The gingerbread men smiled down at Alex from the branches, as if they could read his thoughts. He silently told them to shut up.

“You think Isobel will approve?”

Alex couldn’t help the huff that left his lips. “Isobel doesn’t approve of anything. Gotta love her.”

Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know,” he teased. “She’s not really my type.”

Alex stared very hard at the pair of doves, and hummed.

“I like the serious kind, you know?” he continued to tell him, and Alex’s fingers curled to fists in his pockets, the weight of the jacket growing heavier around his shoulders. “Dark eyes. Hardly ever smiles.”

“Yep, yep, yep,” Alex said, and realized too late that it sounded like he was trying to rush the words out. Was Kyle staring at him? He felt like Kyle was staring at him. Would it be a bad idea to stare back?

“Alex,” he finally said, and Alex very pointedly did not close his eyes with the resignation of being found out.

“Hm?”

“You’re red.”

“It’s cold.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Because of the cold.” He sniffed. “Looks like we’re done here, we should head back inside.”

“I –”

“Come on.”

Alex trudged through the snow with Kyle’s slower footsteps behind him. He couldn’t be having feelings for Kyle Valenti, of all people. They’d known each other since they were kids, he was Alex’s best friend, his partner-in-crime. It wasn’t feelings, Alex thought determinedly. It was the season, the winter atmosphere, the heartache at having given up hope on Guerin completely, the fondness he had for Kyle as a friend, the decorations, the goddamn tree. Nothing more.

“Alex,” Kyle said as Alex’s hand touched the doorknob of the backdoor.

He looked over his shoulder, and Kyle was holding his eyes, his smile warm enough to rid Alex’s body of the cold completely. “You’re cute when you blush.”

Alex stared. He didn’t move for what he was sure was an entire minute, his mouth open and his brows furrowed, his breaths coming out in little puffs of white clouds. He looked away, nodding, and opened the door. He was sure (though he couldn’t say how) that behind him, Kyle’s smile widened.


	15. Malex

There were a few things Michael didn’t know about Alex, and while most of it was exciting to learn, some was just… frustrating, to say the least. For example; Alex had a strict Christmas cookie decorating schedule. He liked to have everything in perfect order, everything frosted and sprinkled evenly. Michael supposed that while Alex had rebelled his entire life, there were a few habits the military couldn’t help but instill in you. And like almost everything, Alex took it to the complete end of the spectrum.

Still, Michael knew how to handle it. Sometimes, it took a few kisses to the back of his neck, sometimes Michael liked to put his hand up Alex’s shirt and massage his always-tense muscles. Sometimes, it took the words “baby” or “I wanna touch you” to get him to loosen up. And Michael enjoyed all of these tactics just as much, if not more, than Alex did. Yet tonight, the gingerbread men had come out perfectly, and Alex was way too happy to allow himself to be distracted by whatever Michael tried.

See, here’s the thing though. Michael was not a selfless guy, not when it came to Alex. When he insisted on helping Alex frost the damn things, he wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart, he was doing it because he wanted this baking session to be over, he wanted to take Alex to bed like he’d been craving to do for the past _week_ , but never could because everyone had needed the airman for one reason or another. On the one night off when Michael had forbidden communication with the outside world, he thought he and Alex would never leave the bedroom, but Alex had plans of his own.

When he finished making the frosting (from scratch, by the way, because using the quicker store-bought version would’ve been “too cheap for Christmas”), all Michael could think about was smearing it all over Alex’s chest, his nipples, his stomach, his _cock_ , and licking it off. It was a wonder Alex had managed to finish it at all with Michael being completely useless at his side, breathing down his neck.

It had been a week, okay? A week was too long a time to not have sex with Alex Manes.

“I could use my powers, you know,” he whispered in Alex’s ear. “Make this go a lot faster.” He resisted the urge to press the lower half of his body to Alex’s side. He had a feeling that if Alex knew he was waiting for sex, he would have Michael really, seriously, _genuinely_ _wait_ for it.

“No way,” Alex said. “Have you ever seen a Christmas movie with magic cookie baking?”

“My powers aren’t _magic_.”

“It’s Christmas. We’re not using ‘telekinetic,’ we’re using ‘magic.’ It just fits better.”

“Oh, Private,” Michael said, trying not to smile. He wanted to feel Alex’s body against his, not giggle at how cute the airman was… He absolutely _refused_ to giggle…

He had managed to straighten his expression. He wondered. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Alex was bent over the gingerbread man, intensely focused on tracing him with the white frosting. “Doing what on purpose?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. Recently, he’d had the suspicion that Alex _knew_ he was dying to be touched, and yet every time Michael went near him, he found some excuse to move away. If Michael wasn’t questioning whether or not his boyfriend was teasing him, he would’ve slammed Alex against the wall _days_ ago.

“Okay,” he said, unable to take it anymore. “That’s it. Give me that.”

“What – _no_! It needs precision, Guerin!”

“Precision, my ass. I’ll finish this in less than thirty seconds.”

But as he and Alex accidently squeezed the piping bag at once, the frosting squirted out wildly, and the next thing they knew, the gingerbread man Alex had been working on had a long thick line of frosting between its legs. Michael thought that it really looked like a gingerbread _man_ now. He didn’t share the joke with Alex. He didn’t think he would’ve appreciated it.

Alex set the piping bag down with a sigh. “Oh brother.”

“Well, that’s it,” Michael said with a shrug, taking hold of Alex’s wrists. “They’re ruined.”

“No, they’re not,” Alex said, releasing himself from Michael’s grip. “Look, they just need a little cleaning up.” And he picked the gingerbread man up delicately, and (to Michael’s great horror) put his tongue where the frosting stuck, licking it off.

And it was so _stupid_ , and so obviously Alex messing with him now, but the airman was sucking the frosting from between the gingerbread man’s legs, placing his lips on the cookie. Michael felt himself gravitate closer, _closer_ , his jeans getting tighter as he imagined those beautiful lips between his _own_ legs, that tongue on his cock, those eyes on his as they were now. Michael swallowed, moving into Alex’s space when –

Alex suddenly bit into the cookie, chewing off the lower half, and Michael was roughly yanked out of his trance, stepping back with his hand instinctively going to the spot between his legs. When he was able to force himself out of his own thoughts, he realized Alex was laughing. The bastard had the back of his hand against his lips, and he was _laughing_.

“You son of a _bitch_!” Michael groaned, throwing the piping bag across the kitchen floor as Alex doubled over, his laugh turned into a cough. “Good! I hope you choke!” he yelled even as he came in an instant to Alex’s side and hit his back.

Alex swallowed the remainder of the cookie as he straightened, his laugh dying down after five whole minutes. He wiped a tear from his eye.

“So you _did_ know,” Michael finally said.

“Are you kidding?” Alex said, grabbing Michael’s chin with one hand, and pecking his lips. “You’re a lot of things, Guerin – _subtle_ isn’t one of them.”

“Alright, you smug asshole,” he muttered, and in one swoop, lifted Alex’s legs up and held them around his waist, pushing Alex against the wall. “You wanna play dirty?” He grinded his hips into Alex’s, and a week’s worth of tension, of wanting from apparently _both_ their ends, of a desperate heat in their guts – it all came crashing, and the two made unseemly noises at the touch. Michael was already panting against Alex’s lips as their foreheads rested together. “Let’s play dirty.”


	16. Kylex

Kyle wasn’t paying attention. He wanted to pretend he was, but he wasn’t. He held the Project Shepherd files up in front of his face, glancing over them at Alex every so often who was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace. The flames crackled on as the sky outside turned pitch black, the two having read enough government conspiracy theories to last them a lifetime. And yet, they trudged on.

Every once in a while, Alex’s phone would vibrate against the soft carpet, and Kyle would stop what he was doing and stare at the name flashing on the screen, as if willing it to go away. Alex seemed to want to pay no mind to the cowboy as he wordlessly, and without even looking at his phone, declined the call. And there were _many_.

“You can turn it off if it’s bothering you,” Kyle suggested so quietly that Alex may not have heard. He very well probably didn’t because every time Kyle made the suggestion, Alex ignored him. Kyle supposed Alex _wanted_ Michael to know he was declining his calls. Maybe he wanted Michael to know he was giving up.

_Good_ , Kyle secretly thought, and hated himself for it. He didn’t think Michael deserved Alex anyway.

“Have you gotten to the 1976 files yet?” Alex asked at one point, and Kyle shrugged. Like he said; he wasn’t paying attention. In fact, he had stopped paying attention _hours_ ago, preferring to watch as Alex’s soft brown locks splayed against the carpet, the way his sweater rose up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Kyle longed to touch, the way the fire reflected in Alex’s eyes as he read the papers he was holding up in front of his own beautiful, rosy-cheeked, rested-for-once face.

“Damn it,” Alex sighed finally, letting the papers fall to his side, his forearm covering his eyes. “My brain’s broken.”

“What do you expect?” Kyle said, relieved to let the papers fall from his own hands as well. “We’ve been looking through these files for the past thirty-two hours, and you haven’t slept for any of that.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Or eaten.”

“Not hungry.”

“You and your military endurance,” Kyle said with a shake of his head. “Someday, you’ll discover you’re human, too, and when you do, don’t come crying to me that you’ve got a fever and keep seeing ghosts at the end of your bed.”

Alex scoffed, turning over to his side, his back facing Kyle. The shirt was too big for Alex, the collar falling down to reveal the smooth nape of his neck and a shoulder blade. Kyle wondered if it was as warm as it looked.

“Hey,” Kyle nudged him from the couch, his toe poking into Alex’s back when he had gone a while without moving. “You still alive?”

Alex hummed, and Kyle tried to focus on other things. The rain pelting the windows and roof, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, Buffy on the other end of the couch, her half-lidded eyes on Alex as if she wanted to sleep, but couldn’t trust that he would be safe if she did. Like father, like daughter, Kyle thought with some amusement.

Kyle stared at Alex’s back, hesitant a moment before he slid onto the floor. He held his breath as he moved closer, and – in case Alex was still awake – very casually peered over. The airman’s nearly closed eyes were staring into the fire, a glimmer of gold dancing across the dark brown.

“Maybe you should go sleep in your bed –"

“Kyle.”

“Yeah?”

Alex said nothing for a moment, then he turned over to his other side, reaching an arm out and wrapping it around Kyle’s waist, pulling him down beside him. The airman snuggled his face against Kyle’s chest, as if trying to settle into a comfortable position. When he found one, he sighed deeply.

Kyle stared, his palm hovering over Alex’s shoulder. Had Alex had something to drink without Kyle noticing? Had the exhaustion just gotten to him? Was he allowed to reach out?

“Are you going to touch me, or not?” Alex asked sleepily, his eyes still closed.

Kyle felt the corners of his lips tug upward. “Really?”

Alex stretched, tugging slightly on Kyle’s waist as if to confirm. Kyle let himself touch Alex’s shoulder, let his hand slide down the airman’s shoulder blades, and down his spine.

He pillowed his head on his arm, watching as Alex slept against him.

In a moment of delirious relief, fear, happiness, and satisfaction, Kyle whispered, unable to help himself, “I thought you didn’t need sleep.”

Alex rubbed his eyes with his balled fist, hidden under his sleeve. Kyle tried not to wonder when he started finding his nearly thirty-year-old best friend so cute. Finally, when Kyle’s eyes closed, inhaling Alex’s scent, warmed by Alex’s touch, he heard a faint whisper of a response.

“No more ghosts.”


	17. Malex

If Michael straightened his back, scrunched his shoulders, and furrowed his brow, he would look convincingly upset at waking up to find that he and Alex were snowed in. Alex was muttering under his breath about water bottles while setting candles everywhere, Buffy following him as if to ask if she could help with anything.

Michael hadn’t meant to fall asleep on Alex’s kitchen counter, but the two had been up looking at files for all hours of the night, and before he’d realized it, he’d drifted off. Alex had nudged him awake, hardly looking at him as he did, and told him they were stuck inside with no way out.

He had asked Michael with a plea in his eyes that Michael didn’t want to think about too much (was Alex so desperate to be away from him?) if he could move the snow away from the doors with his telekinesis.

“Sorry, Private.” And he explained to Alex that snow wasn’t one big thing, it was a bunch of little things piled on together, so he had no idea how to move something like that. Not that it bothered him in the slightest. Why? Simple. He wanted to be alone with Alex. There was no reception with the storm, the electricity was off, and with nothing but faint candlelight and the fireplace to show them the way around the cabin, Michael found himself getting excited.

He and Alex had tried for months to be friends, to talk as normally with one another as Michael might talk to Isobel and Max, or as Alex might talk to Kyle, but Michael had realized all too quickly that he and Alex just weren’t meant to be friends. He couldn’t listen to Alex without wanting to hold him and tell him everything would be okay. He couldn’t see him with tears in his eyes without wanting to kiss him senseless, until Alex forgot all about his troubles, all about what haunted him, all about the darkness of the world. He couldn’t sit beside him without wanting to reach over and touch him. And it was all driving him crazy.

He sat down on the couch with a deep sigh, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced.

“You gonna sit down?”

Alex glanced at him. “Yeah. Yeah, just – uh – let me put up another few candles.”

“This is as bright as it’s getting, Private. Sit down. Did you even sleep at all?”

Alex didn’t answer as he leaned against the wall in an attempt to crouch down beside Buffy. He said something to her, and she barked before running into the hallway.

“She understands you?”

“She’s a service dog, Guerin,” Alex said distractedly as he shuffled around the room, unable to stand still.

“Alex, would you please just – _Alex_ ,” he said, grabbing his wrist to hold him in place. Alex blinked and looked at him as if just remembering he was there.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and slowly took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. As far away from Michael as he could get. He hugged his arms, his fingers scratching the fabric of his sweater as if looking for something to do. “Um… I didn’t even ask. A-are you okay?”

“Me?” Michael blinked. “I’m fine.”

Alex’s head fell into his hands for a second as if he was struggling to hold it up, his fingers running incessantly through his hair before he was hugging himself again, looking into the flames of the fireplace, their biggest source of light. “I’m sorry we’re stuck in here.”

“Not your fault, Private,” Michael fell back against the couch, hands spread out beside him. If he turned his palm up, would Alex come closer and take his hand? Would his always-cold fingers curl around Michael’s warm ones?

“Hey,” he nudged. “ _You_ okay?”

Alex began to nod, his eyes glancing to the door, then the windows which on account of the frost were sealed shut. He looked away without saying anything, his left foot tapping against the rug.

“Alex?”

“Yeah,” he rushed out. “Yeah, I’m – yeah.”

Michael looked to the door himself, the windows, thought of the way Alex had been dashing around, making sure they had enough supplies – as if he didn’t know Max or _someone_ was bound to come looking for them later if they couldn’t answer any calls – and it clicked. The way he slouched forward as if it took too much energy to sit up, the way, at the same time, his fingers and leg couldn’t help but be jittery as if itching to escape, the way he kept looking for exits. Alex was terrified of being trapped.

“Alex,” he tried slowly. “Are you claustrophobic or something?”

Alex shut his eyes tight, his head ducked. “I don’t know. I don’t – I’m going to throw up.”

“Okay, okay,” Michael said, moving to his side of the couch in a flash, putting an arm around his shoulders. He couldn’t understand the tone that his voice had taken, the fierce desire to protect Alex from what bothered him. He considered using his powers to shatter the windows, but there was no way Alex would get them all fixed in this snowstorm, _and_ he lived in the coldest part of town, so he’d freeze to death without them.

“I’m here, Private. Look at me, I’m right here,” and he pulled Alex against his chest, one hand on his back, one on his head. He held on so tightly that Alex was unable to keep fidgeting. Michael kept repeating, “I’m right here, I’m right here,” even as he felt Alex’s arms go around his waist, holding on just as tightly as if hoping to keep himself grounded to earth, and not sucked into whatever dark nightmare his head was trying to suck him into.

“Hey, see?” he said into Alex’s hair when he felt the airman’s breathing calm. “You’re okay.”

After a long while, Alex’s arms around him loosened, and when Buffy ran in with a small plastic bottle in her mouth, Alex let go completely. He took what Michael now saw were pills from the beagle, and popped one into his mouth.

“You get anxious a lot?” Michael asked, his hand still on Alex’s back. He refused to take it off.

Alex said nothing for a moment, then, “Everyone gets anxious.” He rested his head in his hands with a deep sigh, and if nothing else, Michael was relieved he wasn’t panting anymore. “It’s just a little… too much sometimes.”

“I never knew that,” Michael said, rubbing Alex’s back soothingly, eliciting another deep sigh. He felt pride and warmth bloom in his chest. “I always thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

At this, Alex scoffed. “That’s rich.”

Michael stared at him. He really was an idiot. Ten years in the war after spending an entire childhood under the roof of a homophobic monster – _of course_ Alex was afraid. But the thing was, he was always so good at making you _forget_. Michael was ashamed to admit it, but sometimes, he’d forget Alex had been a soldier, that he had been abused at all. He’d even forget about the prosthetic. All he saw was Captain Alex Manes, the hero. _His_ Alex Manes, the love of his life.

He told Alex as much, leaving out the “love of my life” part, and Alex said nothing for a long time.

“Stupid, huh?” Michael said, if only to fill in the silence.

Then Alex wordlessly rested his head on Michael’s lap, staring at the flames. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”

“Oh,” he said, and felt like an idiot for it. He put a hand in Alex’s hair, and tried not to melt at the way Alex’s eyes fluttered shut. “Are you… feeling any better?”

Alex sighed, reaching down mindlessly to pet Buffy who was staring up at him, as if awaiting her next orders. “Yeah. I think the pill’s starting to work.” Then, as if afraid to say it, “Someone will come get us soon, right?”

Michael once again heard the silent plea there, the one he’d initially misunderstood so badly, loud and clear. Alex was smart, he must’ve known it would only be a matter of hours before one of their friends came to check on them and got them out, but he was not in a state to think rationally right now, not in a strong enough state to reassure himself. Which was also fine. Michael didn’t mind being the strong one if it was for Alex. In fact, he liked it.

“Yeah, Private,” he said reassuringly, raking Alex’s hair back from his face. “Any second now.”

Alex bowed his head gratefully on Michael’s lap, turning to hide his face which – by the tips of his ears – Michael guessed was flushed. He fell asleep with Michael’s warm hands on him.


	18. Malex

“I should go,” Alex barely said before Michael hooked an arm around his waist, pulling him back into bed.

“No, the weather sucks. Stay here,” he groaned into Alex’s shoulder blade, kissing along his shoulder, then collarbone, then his jaw as he lay him down. Alex broke out into a laugh as Michael reached his lips, and the cowboy smiled into the kiss.

The storm raged outside, but the bedsheets in Michael’s airstream were warm as Michael moved to hover over Alex, pulling his leg up so that he could slide in between. They moaned into each other’s mouths, and Michael grinded into him. After a moment, they did not know whether it was the storm rocking the airstream or themselves, the cold forgotten as the two were engulfed in heat. Michael had been so used to borrowed time with Alex that to have him now without limitations – it filled his chest with more love and warmth and desire than he knew what to do with. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

The lights were out, the two men left in darkness as their hands roamed one another’s bodies, lit only for a flash by the lightning outside. Whispered “baby’s” and “harder’s” flooded the airstream, and Michael felt himself melt with every tug at his curls, every hot touch at the base of his spine, every scratch down his back, ever push at his ass, every swipe of Alex’s tongue against his own.

“I love you,” Michael breathed against his cheek after they come down from their high. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I –”

Alex pulled his face in, effectively silencing him by taking his lips in his own. He wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

“Sleep with me, Michael,” he whispered, and it was a different request than the one Alex normally asked of him, than the one Michael repeatedly asked in return.

Michael took Alex’s lips in his one more time before he nodded, and lay down beside the airman, pulling him in against him. Michael brought the blanket up to their shoulders, keeping them both warm as the chill from outside slowly returned.


	19. Max x Alex

Alex didn’t know Max could laugh with his entire heart in his lungs, but he found it very infectious. He covered his face, not wanting to admit that the Evans man had created a worse snowman than he did because Alex was the absolute _worst there was_ , and he didn’t appreciate his reputation being ruined by some sheriff who happened to look kind of decent when he smiled.

And that, Alex reminded himself, was okay. He was allowed to think Max Evans was attractive, he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t. And so what if he was Michael’s brother? He wasn’t _Alex’s_ brother. It was fine.

Alex tried not to reflect on how often he’d been recently giving himself that little reminder as Max said, doubling over, “Just admit it, Manes. Yours is better.”

“I…” Alex groaned, kicking the snow. “No!” And Max laughed even harder. “No, wait, yours isn’t that bad! It’s abstract!”

But if Alex’s long-held opinion that ‘abstract’ art really just meant ‘bad’ had any truth to it, this would be the deciding factor. Max’s snowman was _bad_. It had only one long cylinder of snow for a body, and while Alex’s head looked like a peach, Max’s was crushed down on one side and poking out on the other. If it wasn’t so funny, it might’ve been petrifying.

When Max’s laughter subsided, he reached out his hand. “Come on. Do it.”

“No,” Alex held his own hand to his chest, guarding it jealously. “Screw you, get away from me.”

“Do it, Manes! Concede!”

Alex stared at Max’s open palm, then, with great hesitance, heaved a sigh and put his hand in the sheriff’s, shaking slowly. With a great dramatic air of grim resignation, Alex said, “You, Max Evans, are the worst snowman maker in the world.”

“Thank you,” Max responded, drawing up and looking towards the distance. “Fear not. I _will_ most definitely fail you.”

“And may it be the most spectacular failure ever known to man.”

Max and Alex were left with their hideous snowmen when they finally retired to Alex’s front porch. Max had told Alex to grab some blankets while he disappeared into the kitchen. He came out with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, handing Alex his mug – his favorite black one with the white music notes trailing along the bottom, though how Max had memorized Alex’s favorite mug after only having seen it once or twice was beyond the airman – and had taken out the Christmas cookies he’d brought over. He set the cookies on a chair between them, and urged Alex to take one.

As Alex brought the cookie to his lips, he noticed Max watching for his reaction, and his cheeks felt warm. He took a bite, his eyes widening before they fell shut, and Alex all but melted into his chair.

Alex saw that Max’s smile had widened when he looked again, seemingly content with his reaction, and Alex had a brief, passing thought, a strange one; Had Max made these cookies _for him_? Max had said he had made them for no particular reason, but why was he so pleased to know that Alex loved them?

Alex realized he didn’t want an answer (part of him was afraid it _wasn’t_ what he’d thought at all, that Max actually hadn’t been thinking of Alex in the slightest when he’d been baking, and for some reason, the thought tugged at his heart and made him sadder than he would’ve been willing to confess). Instead, he took a sip of hot chocolate, trying very hard not to moan, and asked, “You go back to work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Max said, his eyes on the poorly deformed snowmen as his fingers slowly drag down the side of his mug. “One day off. Why?” He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “You planning something unlawful?”

“Aren’t I always?” Alex asked, and Max scoffed.

“You’re just as bad as…” his words trailed off, his brother’s name unspoken between them, but as loud as a train at the same time. Max cleared his throat before the air could get any thicker, and stood, taking both his and Alex’s mugs, and setting them down.

“Come on, Manes,” he said, trying to take Alex’s hands. His fingers curled around the airman’s and they stood like that, a mere few inches apart, for a second longer than either of them was comfortable with.

“What’re we doing?” Alex asked slowly, wary as Max led him back out to the snowmen. He was almost going to suggest they go back inside and Alex could make lunch when Max suddenly fell onto the snow, arms and legs stretched out as he tried to make a snow angel.

Alex, to his immense relief, felt like laughing, so he did. “Seriously?” he said, though he couldn’t help but feel a tingle in his fingers. He hadn’t had this much fun in one day since… he couldn’t even remember.

“Manes,” Max said with a small smirk that reminded Alex of Michael. “Come on, there’s an empty space for you.” And Alex remembered that this wasn’t Michael, it was _Max_. Max liked romance novels, and poetry, and baking, and hot chocolate, and making the people he cared about (Alex would allow himself that much; that someone actually _cared_ about him) happy. Right now, Max was lying in snow, making a snow angel because _of course he was_.

Alex nudged Max’s leg with his boot. “Move over,” he said, a laugh bubbling in his throat.


	20. Kylex

Last Christmas, Alex had spent the night hacking into secret Russian and Chinese databases. No warmth, no fireplace, no Christmas decoration, no music, no nothing except a half-smile from one of the men in his unit, a soft “Merry Christmas, y’all,” and a fist bump.

Now it was different. It was Michelle and Arturo yelling over the music and chatter to one another in the kitchen about spices and turkeys in the oven and “Did you add the tomato?” and “we need more chili!” and it didn’t seem to matter that they were only a few feet apart. It was Liz and Rosa dancing through the living room and kitchen, martinis in hand as some familiar song that Alex had heard one too many times at the Crashdown Café played throughout the house. It was Kyle’s hand pressing softly to the base of Alex’s spine as he chopped bell peppers and onions, the sleeves of his deep-red sweater rolled up to his elbows. And Alex loved it.

Alex slapped Kyle’s hand away every time he tried to take a bell pepper off the counter to chew on, and received a messy kiss to his cheek in retaliation. Alex laughed as Kyle went all but skipping out of the room, his mom calling him over to check on the mash potatoes.

“That boy,” she said with an exasperated sigh as she pulled the sweet potatoes out of the oven.

Alex grinned. “He’s something.”

“Hey,” Michelle slapped his arm playfully. “No, you’re on _my_ side.”

“Ah, let the boy have his fun, Michelle,” Arturo said with a knowing grin at Alex. “This is the happiest I’ve ever seen him, he should be able to enjoy it.”

Alex didn’t meet Arturo’s eyes, but a warmth spread up his neck and to his cheeks, and he had to force himself not to smile. The idea that Kyle could be so happy nowadays because of _him_ – it was unexpected, to say the least.

“What’re we talking about?” Rosa asked as she popped an olive into her mouth.

“Men vs women,” Michelle muttered, then, louder, “Kyle Valenti, get your butt in here and take a look at these potatoes!”

They sat down around an hour later to a wonderful spread of roasted turkey, mash potatoes, gravy, corn, as well as tamales, salad, romeritos, and pozole. Alex felt Kyle take his hand under the table, and he brought it up to his lips to kiss. Liz cooed and Rosa pretended she was throwing up.

Kyle pointed up. The walls were decorated with tinsel, Christmas lights, and wreaths, there was a giant, beautiful tree in the corner, and right above Alex and Kyle’s heads, hanging from the ceiling, was mistletoe.

Alex raised a brow. “Is _that_ why you told me to sit here?”

“Absolutely,” Kyle said. Never sarcastic, never taunting – just as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that he would want any excuse to touch Alex, to kiss him… even if it _was_ in front of their families.

“Well,” Liz said from his other side, and leaned in, kissing Alex’s cheek. “Now _we’re_ under the mistletoe.”

Kyle frowned. “Hey, don’t –”

“Point taken,” Michelle said, and rounded the table so that she was standing right behind Alex. “So are we,” she said, and lovingly kissed Alex’s other cheek. Alex was laughing.

“Well, don’t leave me out!” Arturo all but whined, and rounded the table as well, kissing the top of Alex’s head before ruffling his hair.

“Oh!” Rosa started to stand, excited. “I want to –”

“Don’t even think about it!” Kyle pointed at her, warning them all to stay away. “ _My_ boyfriend, _I’m_ the only one who kisses him. Go away, shoo!”

Kyle hugged Alex closely to his chest as he said this, and Alex laughed into his shoulder as the others very dejectedly returned to their seats. Kyle refused to let go of his hand after that, his thumb running over Alex’s fingers as they ate. Alex smiled at the scene around him, at Kyle’s warm and soft touch. His heart filled with the love he knew was only appropriate for Christmas, past Christmases forgotten.


	21. Malex

Alex’s eyes fluttered shut as Michael brushed his wet hair. He leaned back against his boyfriend, and Michael laughed as he felt the damp locks soak through his shirt and cool his stomach. He brought a hand under Alex’s chin, and tilted it up, leaning down to press a kiss to the airman’s lips.

Alex groaned, and wrapped an arm up around Michael’s neck, keeping him in place as he kissed him over and over again.

“We just showered,” Michael said against his lips, though he could already feel the fire pooling in his gut. He’d shower fifty more times tonight if it meant he got to take Alex to bed again.

As if reading his mind, Alex grinned, swiping his tongue against Michael’s before he whispered, “I don’t care.”

Michael was just tilting his head to deepen the kiss, a groan escaping his throat, when a bark sounded in the room.

“Mm,” Alex hummed as he pulled away, Michael chasing him until the airman broke out into laughter. “What the _hell_?!”

Michael followed his eyes and saw Buffy, sitting there looking up at them innocently with a big, bright red nose. He bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, his chin rested on Alex’s head.

“She looks cuter, doesn’t she?”

Michael had his arms wrapped around Alex’s shoulders, and Alex covered Michael’s hands on his collarbone with his own. “Oh, I should’ve known _you_ had done this.”

“You’ve been really upset lately,” Michael said after a moment, his voice quiet. “We wanted to cheer you up a little.”

He loved Alex enough to recognize when he was depressed – those terrifying days when he’d speak very little and smile even less – and he knew there was little he could do for the love of his life on those days but be there for him to hold and touch. Still, Michael was _smart_ , and he liked looking for small ways to make Alex laugh. Luckily for him, apparently, so did Buffy.

Alex’s hands on Michael’s tightened, and when he looked up again at his boyfriend, his smile was small, but genuine, his eyes glassy. “Thank you.”

Michael shook his head. Alex never had to thank him. He kissed Alex’s lips once, twice, three times before Alex leaned down to Buffy, his hands out, urging her to him. She readily jumped over, her front paws on his knees.

“You look gorgeous, baby,” he cooed, pressing his lips to her head, laughing as he tried to dodge her kisses to his lips. “Ah, _stop it_!”

Michael crossed his arms on the back of the chair, his chin rested on his forearms, and as he watched Alex and Buffy together, he smiled. He would never be able to rid Alex of the dark thoughts that haunted him, would never be able to completely mend his heart. But he could keep the evil away, he could make Alex forget, if only for a moment.


	22. Kylex

Kyle felt the chill of the falling snow before he opened his eyes to it outside the window. It came down softly, submerging him and the man curled against him in silence. Kyle looked down at Alex’s head on his chest, the way the airman’s fist, pressed against his lips, clenched and unclenched in his sleep. Kyle ran a hand down Alex’s smooth back, exhaling deeply at the warmth of his skin.

Alex’s eyes fluttered, and he stretched. Kyle brought his arm around the airman’s shoulders, kissing his hair, and keeping him on top of him. Alex sighed, unmoving for a moment, then, “What time is it?”

Kyle picked up his phone from the nightstand, checked the time, and folded his arm back under his head. “Seven.”

Alex nodded sleepily. “We should get up.”

Kyle hummed, the perfect dark strands of hair on Alex’s perfect head moving at his breath. “Or, and this is just a suggestion,” he said quietly as he ran his knuckles down Alex’s spine. “We could spend the day in bed.”

He _felt_ Alex grin against his nipple, and bit his lower lip. “Sounds lazy.”

“Lazy’s good sometimes.”

“Lazy’s never good.”

“I’m the doctor,” Kyle said, digging his nails into Alex’s back, making him hiss before falling into a tired laughter. “And I say it’s awesome.”

Alex kissed his chest, and snuggled against him. He stared out the window, and sighed, content. “It’s snowing.”

“I’ve noticed,” he mumbled against Alex’s forehead, unable to help but smile at the sleepiness in Alex’s voice, the airman so clearly drifting off again. It was nice, he thought. Alex so rarely let himself rest.

“A white Christmas,” Alex nearly whispered, then said nothing at all. Kyle kissed his forehead.

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”


	23. Malex

Michael loved taking Alex’s clothes off.

Whether the airman was wearing a button down, a T-shirt, a turtleneck – _whatever­_ – Michael loved peeling it off, ripping it apart, running his hands down Alex’s naked chest. And Alex almost always loved it. _Almost_.

There was one instance when the airman wouldn’t allow it, one piece of clothing he wasn’t allowed to take off; the ugly Christmas sweater – why? Because it “messed with tradition,” _apparently_.

“How did you never know about this?” Alex asked him with a laugh as he busied himself with the fried eggs he had on the stove, wearing (scratch that – _still wearing_ , to Michael’s great dismay) the ugly Christmas sweater. It had Santa’s face in the center with reindeer lining the top, and tiny decorated Christmas trees along the bottom. Michael hated that sweater. He wanted it _off_.

“ _Isobel’s_ your sister. _Max_ is your brother. If anyone’s supposed to know about nerdy Christmas fashion traditions, wouldn’t it be them?”

“You think I listen to a word they say?” Michael snapped, and Alex doubled over with laughter. He was so glad Alex was enjoying his frustration. Meanwhile, Michael was having the worst holiday ever. ( _Yes_ , he was exaggerating. _No_ , he didn’t care.)

And the thing _was_ , it wouldn’t have bothered him so much if Alex hadn’t kept him at arm’s length since his sister – he was going to _kill_ her – _gave_ Alex the damn thing _three days ago_. It wasn’t like Michael hadn’t _tried_ to get close, but no matter what, Alex refused to take it off. When Michael had tried using his telekinesis to pull at it, Alex sensed too quickly what was going on, yanked it back down, and refused to even _kiss_ the cowboy for an entire day. Michael did not try to do the same thing twice.

“Baby,” he whispered as he came up behind Alex, his hands coming around the airman’s waist, the smell of breakfast filling the kitchen.

“Hi,” Alex said with a grin, biting the lower lip he _knew_ Michael loved to bite himself. “How are you?”

“Funny,” Michael mumbled against the shell of his ear. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Alex huffed a laugh, and Michael tried to ignore the flutter in his chest. He didn’t want to be happy to hear Alex laugh, not at his expense… no matter _how_ badly his heart raced at the beautiful sound.

“Christmas ends the day after tomorrow,” Alex said, as if meant to be comforting. “Can’t you just wait that long?”

Michael’s forehead fell onto Alex’s shoulder with a sigh, his nails digging into the airman’s waist. “What part of that sentence was meant to make me feel better?”

Alex laughed fully now, and turned in Michael’s hold, wrapping his arms around the cowboy’s neck. “You’re losing your mind.”

“I’m gonna burn that damn sweater.”

“Like I said, losing your mind,” Alex said, his smile widening as he pressed his lips to Michael’s.

It was meant to be a quick peck, but Michael brought a hand around Alex’s back, holding him in place as he deepened the kiss. Alex moaned, and Michael took his chance. He put his hand up Alex’s sweater, and the airman gasped against his mouth. Michael took the chance to slip his tongue in, swiping it across Alex’s.

He waited nearly a minute before he began to tug at the hem of Alex’s sweater, and his wrists were suddenly grabbed.

Alex pulled back, breathing hard, his and Michael’s foreheads together, his fingers all but trembling against Michael’s wrists. Yet he smiled hungrily, and kissed Michael’s lips again before he said, “Not yet.”

And he just turned back to the eggs as if they weren’t about to start something barely a second ago. Michael clenched his jaw, hugging Alex from behind and scowling against his shoulder. (He was annoyed, but he was still a man, and he still needed to feel Alex against him.)

“It’s tradition.”

“I hate tradition.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you love this tradition.”

“I know that, too.”

Michael groaned, pressing his forehead roughly into Alex’s shoulder. He knew he couldn’t break the tradition, he knew he couldn’t get upset, and it made Alex so happy that Michael found none of it _really_ bothered him. _And yet…_

He huffed. “Day after tomorrow?”

Alex looked over at him, and Michael thought putting up with not being able to strip him was worth it if it meant he would smile like that.

“As _soon_ as Christmas is over.”

Michael nodded, then after a grateful kiss to his cheek, he groaned louder, hoping Santa would hear his one wish this year to let Christmas end as soon as possible.


	24. Malex

If someone had asked Michael a year ago what he imagined he’d be doing on Christmas Eve, wrapping presents with Alex in the seat beside him would not have been his first answer. Or his last.

Liz and Max were going over Happy Holiday cards, Isobel and Maria were in the kitchen, laughing about some kind of obscene cookie decor, Cam and Kyle were fixing the lights along the walls for tomorrow’s Christmas breakfast, and Buffy was running from one person to another, coming over to nuzzle Alex’s leg every so often, as if supervising.

“How do you _do_ this?” he asked for what he was sure was the hundredth time. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew how to do it fine, but he found that whenever he asked that question, Alex would laugh like Michael was the cutest thing in the world, and then lean over to show him how to properly fold the wrapping paper, letting Michael take in his scent, his lips close enough to kiss.

As they worked, Michael Bublé’s Christmas album played on radio in the background, and every now and then, Kyle would come around the table and lean over Alex’s head to look at the wrapping, his hand on the airman’s shoulder. Michael tried not to glare at him since Alex got upset when his boyfriend and best friend argued, and Michael had promised himself he would _not_ upset Alex in any way during Christmas.

It was only when everyone had their backs turned to them, too preoccupied with their own jobs to notice what was going on at the table, that Michael reached into his jacket and pulled out a small green box, wrapped with a red ribbon. Without looking up, he handed it to Alex.

“Oh, do you need help wrapping that?” Alex asked as he took it. “It looks fine to me.”

Michael blushed, unable to find a way out but to confess; “ _No_! Alex, I – no, it’s –” he cleared his throat. “It’s for you.”

Alex blinked, like he thought he may have heard Michael wrong. Michael made a mental note to give Alex more gifts from now on. It bothered him that the airman seemed unable to believe that his own boyfriend would get him something.

“For me?” he handled the box carefully now, as if it had become infinitely more valuable because he knew who it was from. “Really?”

And the look on his face was so surprised and genuine that Michael couldn’t help but move his chair closer, close enough that even as he whispered a “Yes, Private, really,” he was sure Alex could hear him.

Alex stared at the small box, then swallowed, and set it down.

“Alex?” he started as Alex leaned down to grab something off the floor. The airman came back up with a large box in hand, the box he had first started wrapping and managed to finish before Michael had even gotten back from work, ready to help.

Michael remembered asking Alex who the big gift was from, and the airman had shrugged with a shy grin and said nothing.

After a very confused Michael took the heavy box, he spotted the note buried under the green and red ribbon, and pulled it out. It read; _From Alex, To Michael. I love you. Merry Christmas._

Michael’s shoulders slumped. “You… when did you…?”

Alex shrugged, holding his own gift from Michael close to his chest as if it was the most precious thing he could own. “Months ago, actually. I was waiting for a good time to give it to you. Christmas seemed suitable.”

“Baby,” Michael muttered, not knowing what to do with such a large present. “I… I don’t –”

“I don’t want to open them today,” Alex said, covering Michael’s hand with his own. “I want to do it tomorrow. On Christmas morning, we’ll do it then. Together.”

And somehow, Michael heard the unspoken words; _I want a normal Christmas, as a couple. I want to do it all like I’d always imagined for us. You and me._

He felt a smile tug at his lips at the way his boyfriend bravely spoke out about what he wanted, and he nodded. “Together.”

Alex’s grin widened before he leaned in, and kissed Michael’s cheek. The cowboy’s eyes fluttered shut at the soft press of his lips. Tomorrow, Christmas morning, Alex would open his gift, and Michael would open his.

It was true, Michael could not have said this was a Christmas he had ever hoped for himself, couldn’t have said he believed in this kind of happiness. But with Alex at his side, Christmas miracles didn’t seem so farfetched.


	25. Malex

Michael woke to Alex’s head on his shoulder, the airman breathing softly into his skin. It was snowing outside the window, and Michael could already hear the others waking outside the bedroom, laughing sleepily and playing Christmas music to properly wake up.

At one point, Liz had come in to wake them, to wish them a Merry Christmas, to urge them to come open their gifts, but Michael had held up a hand; _Five minutes_ , he silently asked. Michael knew none of them would dig into the presents without him and Alex there, but all he was asking for was five more minutes. Five more minutes of morning peace, five more minutes of Alex asleep in his arms, the sleeves of his white sweater hiding his fingers as they curled to fists on Michael’s stomach. Five more minutes of _this_ , and then they’d get up. Liz gave them a soft smile, and nodded before closing the door.

Alex stirred awake not long after, and Michael raked his soft brown locks for another bit before they finally got up. As they waddled into the living room where everyone was already gathered, hot chocolate or plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes in hand, Michael hugged Alex from behind, hooking his chin over the airman’s shoulder.

They each took the presents with their names on them, and while Michael was grateful for the gifts he’d gotten, the one he really cared about, and had been saving for last, was the large one from Alex. He remembered the airman’s face last night as he’d held it up, his cheeks red and his smile shy, and he was determined on loving it no matter what it was.

Alex took the small box Michael had handed him last night as well, and they each dug into their present. Alex held up a brown-string bracelet with a little charm on the end; a guitar. His boyfriend seemed to have a similar idea because when Michael opened his own gift, he was shocked to see an _actual_ guitar.

“I know you don’t… own one,” Alex said shyly, clutching the bracelet tightly as if afraid he would already lose it if he let go. “I wanted to help make things quieter for you –”

But Michael had already taken Alex by the waist with his free hand, and was kissing him so fiercely that all Alex could do was gasp against his mouth. He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Alex’s, gently taking the bracelet he gave him out of his closed hand, and slipping it around Alex’s wrist.

“ _You’re_ my music, Alex. You make everything quiet.”

Alex stared at the little golden charm at the end, a promise that Michael would be with him forever, and with a smile happier than Michael ever thought possible for Alex to be happy, and glassy eyes, the airman took Michael’s face in his hands, and kissed him softly.

Michael reveled in the press of Alex’s body against his, in the warmth of Alex’s fingers on his cheeks and jaw, in the taste of Alex’s lips. Half an hour later, as they had the breakfast spread out on the small coffee table, the Christmas tree lighting up merrily in the background, the snow falling peacefully outside, Michael had Alex on his lap in the armchair. The airman’s head was on his shoulder, his arm around Michael’s waist as they half-listened to the others’ conversations, their attention mostly absorbed with one another’s heartbeat, the warmth of one another’s skin.

Finally, Isobel asked Michael to put his new guitar to good use, and Max asked Alex to sing. “That really would make this Christmas perfect,” Liz said.

“I haven’t heard Alex sing since high school,” Maria agreed.

“Come on, Manes,” Cam said. “It _is_ Christmas, after all.”

But Kyle, who seemed to always be able to read Alex, looked to the others and said, “Let’s all sing. Together.”

Alex and Michael looked to each other. Normally, Alex didn’t like to have the spotlight, but they seemed to have the same idea; this was the morning for miracles.

So Michael pulled out his guitar, and while Alex had to move off his legs, Michael moved over on the chair so that his airman could still be at his side.

And so, Michael strung the first few notes, Alex softly began singing Welcome Christmas, and soon, everyone was joining in. Michael didn’t know if, through the falling snow outside, he could hear the faint jingling of Christmas bells, the hearty laugh of an old man, but as he and Alex sang together, Alex staring back at him with his brilliant, loving eyes and his even more loving smile, Michael was sure of one thing; this was a gift. And he would never let it go again.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


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